


I Almost Do

by SeriesofUnfortunateFangirling



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Based on a Taylor Swift Song, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Series 3 and 4 didn't happen, Sherlock Holmes Returns after Reichenbach, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeriesofUnfortunateFangirling/pseuds/SeriesofUnfortunateFangirling
Summary: Sherlock's thoughts after the Fall and as he comes home. How the reunion could have happened.Inspired by I Almost Do by Taylor Swift





	I Almost Do

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my documents folder since I saw Reichenbach Fall, and now that I'm posting fics, here it is.

_I bet this time of night you're still up_  
_I bet you're tired from a long hard week_  
_I bet you're sitting in your chair by the window looking out at the city_  
_And I bet sometimes you wonder about me_

It had been months since that terrible day. The day of the fall. The day he had had to say goodbye to his flat mate, his colleague, his best friend, his John. Not a moment had passed when John wasn't in his thoughts. He often wondered what John would be doing. Most likely he was awake, at his computer or watching television, tired from the week's work at the clinic. John would be sitting in his chair in 221B. It was the only place Sherlock wanted to be, his flat, his home, with his John. 

Sherlock hoped that John still thought of him from time to time. He thought of John constantly. Memories of the time they had shared together. He had a room in his mind palace dedicated to everything John. All the times they had run around London together, chasing criminals or handcuffed to each other. He thought of John's hand in his, how much he missed having John always a step behind him, always there. He thought of the several occasions on which John had breathed “brilliant” about his deductions. What he wouldn't give to hear that now.

_And I just want to tell you_  
_It takes everything in me not to call you_

Sherlock thought about calling John all the time. To let John know he was still alive, how much he missed being with his blogger, how much he wanted to come home. But he knew he couldn't call yet. He still had the job to finish. He had to take down Moriarty's criminal network. He couldn't let John know he was alive until he was absolutely sure that John was in no danger.

_And I wish I could run to you_  
_And I hope you know that every time I don't_  
_I Almost Do_

He thought back to the day he had seen John at his grave site. John had been talking, pleading for one more miracle. Sherlock had wanted to run to John so badly in that moment, He would have taken him up in his arms, held him in a hug and let him cry all over the Belstaff coat. He didn't care if it was ruined, John was worth it. 

And that was what made it so hard. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to run straight back to Baker Street, but he couldn't. John had to be safe before he could come back. And every time Sherlock didn't run back to his John, he came closer and closer to doing just that.

_I bet you think I either moved on or hate you_  
_Cause each time you reach out there's no reply_  
_I bet it never ever occurred to you that I can't say hello to you_  
_And risk another goodbye_

Sherlock knew that John had been back to visit his grave. He had been keeping watch over his doctor when there was a lull in information about Moriarty's network. He had seen John talk to the headstone many times now, and each time John asked for that miracle, it was harder to not step out, to tell John he was there. John must be losing hope at the lack of response and the lengthening of time that Sherlock was “dead”.

He thought a lot about what would happen if ever the day came where it would be safe to return. Would John even want him back? As the time dragged on, there was no doubt that John was beginning to really believe Sherlock was gone. What if the day came when Sherlock could come home and John shut him out? It made Sherlock sick with worry. The longer his mission took, the more risk he was putting himself at that John would never want to see him come back. He knew that if John rejected him then, he would not be able to handle it.

_Oh, we made quite a mess babe_  
_It's probably better off this way_  
_And I confess, baby_  
_In my dreams you're touching my face_  
_And asking me if I want to try again with you_

He thinks back to all the sticky situations he put John in when they had still been together. Maybe it would be better if he just stayed dead. John would be much safer that way.

But Sherlock knew he could never keep going if he couldn't go back to John when this was over. Every night his dreams show him the day of his homecoming. He will walk into 221B Baker Street, and find John sitting in his chair. John, in utter amazement, reaches out to touch Sherlock's face, to reassure himself that Sherlock is real. Once satisfied, John will pull him in for a hug and ask if Sherlock was back to stay, and the only answer is of course. He can't wait for the dream to become reality.

_I bet this time of night you're still up_  
_I bet you're tired from a long hard week_  
_I bet you're sitting in your chair by the window looking out at the city_  
_And I hope sometimes you think of me_

Sherlock stood outside of 221B, hand on the door knob. He had fully dismantled Moriarty's network. The day had come that he could come back. He could finally come home to his flat and his John. But he couldn't move to open the door. It was late, what if John was asleep? But if Sherlock knew anything, he knew John. John would be awake, sitting in his chair. Maybe he should call, give John a heads up? No, this needed to be done in person. He had been away for far too long.

Taking a deep breath, which had at one time seemed so boring to him, he opened the door. The hall was empty, the stairs as well. He went up the stairs slowly, trying to prepare himself for any scenario. He stopped at the top of the stairs, reminded himself to breathe, and walked in.  
It was just as he had expected. There was John, in his chair, staring toward the window. He had not noticed Sherlock yet, and Sherlock used this time to look at him. John looked relatively the same, jumper and short military haircut. And yet there were differences. He sat slumped in his chair, and had bags under his eyes from nights of little sleep. John looked older somehow, like he had when Sherlock had first met him in the lab. John had been so alone then, and Sherlock guessed that since the fall, John had returned to that lonely state.

He had stood in the doorway staring for so long that the subject of his gaze looked around, feeling someone's eyes on him. John turned in his seat to face the door and froze. Sherlock watched John's face and saw just about every emotion known to man flicker across his features, surprise, confusion, relief, anger, hurt, finally settling into shock. “Sh...Sherlock?”

The whispered sound of his name was what did it. Sherlock broke down, but stayed where he was. He cried, tears of joy at finally seeing John again and tears of sorrow that it had taken so long. John sat frozen in his seat for a moment, then stood slowly.

“How are you here right now? You're dead. I was there, I saw you fall, I couldn't find a pulse...” John rambled on for a while, and once the shock wore off the anger set in. “You bloody git! You made me watch, you left me alone! How can you be here, standing in this doorway?!” John stalked over to Sherlock, fists clenched. Sherlock shut his eyes, waiting for the impact of John's rightful fists. John had every right to be angry, to hit him.

But the strike never came. Sherlock opened his eyes again to find John standing inches from him, just staring. Finally he spoke again. “Do you know how much it hurt me? To watch you fall and know there was nothing I could do to stop it? Do you even understand how lonely I have been since you...” John couldn't finish. The hurt was clear in his eyes, his voice breaking over the words.

“I understand, John. You have no idea how many times I wanted to call you, how it took everything I had not to. I wanted to run back here to you, and so many times I almost did.”

“Then why, Sherlock? Why didn't you? Why did you jump in the first place?”

“I did it for you. Moriarty had a sniper on you, ready to shoot. The only thing that could save you was my death. I had to do it. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you. I meant it when I said I'd be lost without my blogger.”

“Yes, but in your attempt to save me you nearly killed me Sherlock! I have had to go on this whole time thinking you were dead. You are my best friend, and I lost you. You could have come back any time. Why now?”

“Because John, I have finally taken down all traces of Moriarty. I had to stay away until I was sure it was safe for you.”

John stared. Sherlock stared right back. They stood for a few minutes, just looking.

Sherlock broke the silence. “Mycroft told me once that caring is not an advantage. I want you to know that I think he's wrong. You are the reason I did all of this. The thought of your safety and the hope of coming back kept me going all this time. I know you are mad at me, furious. But I hope one day that you can forgive me.” 

John stayed silent. Sherlock gave him some time, but the silence was beginning to get uncomfortable. He knew John was upset, but he had not expected this. Finally he had to say something. “Not good?”

“A bit not good, yeah.”

And suddenly the two were laughing, for those were the words that John had said so long ago, during a Study in Pink. They laughed like they had the night they ran all around London together, like they had in Buckingham Palace, like they had at the crime scene when John shot the cabby. 

John closed the small distance between them. He pulled Sherlock to him in a tight hug, which Sherlock returned. They stayed that way for a long time, laughing, crying and hugging. Neither one wanted to let go, never wanted to be alone again.

And then John whispered something, so quietly that Sherlock almost didn't hear it. And with those words, Sherlock knew that everything would be all right.

“You did it, Sherlock. One more miracle, just for me. You came back.”


End file.
